


in the cold, dark earth

by collieflower



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collieflower/pseuds/collieflower
Summary: Stanley Uris wrote letters. He wrote them, and sent them off.And then he booked a plane, a decision taken back. He’d answer for them at a later date, if they killed it. If they survived.It didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore.Stan was on his way, and he wasscared.





	in the cold, dark earth

**Author's Note:**

> i slapped on 'work song' by Hozier and this was born in 12 mins.
> 
> this should be titled "example 94 on how Ollie can't publish anything but niche fics"
> 
> It's becoming a running gag, help

He never should have gotten in the car. He should have taken a cab, a train, fucking something.

It was dark. His eyes swam with the aftermath of lights glaring in his eyes. Reflective and stubborn, staining his vision like red wine.

His neck felt like it was held on by a ball bearing, stripped and loose, lolling from side to side as his temple seared in pain.

Oh, shit. He could feel his nose bleeding, the blood trailing up his nose and into his throat like it made to choke him. He coughed out what he could, but as he gasped in air, gobs of it were called home to clog itself along his throat.

Stan hadn’t been to Temple in years. His childhood had robbed him blind of any belief that there was of God. He hadn’t prayed since he was thirteen, down far below Derry, with teeth stuck around his face like a scarf. Yes, he’d prayed then. He prayed, shouting cursed and pleas, begging among the pain,  _ pain, pain _ .

He prayed now.

He didn’t know to whom, or what he prayed to, but he prayed.

His head swam, jerking on the ball bearings like there was a wire looped around his throat, yanking, insisting that his head be lobbed from his shoulders.

Stanley Uris was rarely dumb, certainly never stupid. But tonight he was. He was drunk off of worry, panic lodged like a stone behind his ribs.

Coming off a flight from Atlanta to Augusta, he’d rented a car straight away. The car was smart and new, something safe and bigger than one man would ever need.

Safe as the car made him feel, the closer he got to Derry, the bigger the panic became, pushing on his lungs until he had to fight for breath, until his stomach rolled in the feeling, until he wanted to vomit up his insides until he was nothing left but a sheath, devoid of panic and fear.

That was the only way they were going to kill It. Without fear. Sturdy and strong and, most importantly,  _ together _ .

Stanley Uris wrote letters. He wrote them, and sent them off.

And then he booked a plane, a decision taken back. He’d answer for them at a later date, if they killed it. If they survived.

It didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore.

Stan was on his way, and he was  _ scared _ .

His hands shook. He made to light a cigarette, caring little for the policy he signed at the renter’s. The cigarette between his teeth, he fished for a lighter.

It was dark, but he didn’t see the headlights. They swam in his vision as he jerked to look back into the road. If asked later, Stan would have told you that there were three lights, golden and glowing, twisting and playing in a way no car’s light had business. His grip on the wheel, as he could feel it in his hands, tightened.

The collision, as it was reported, wasn’t a collision in the sense that there was no other car.

Stanley Uris was scared, trapped upside down in his car. There was that pain, again. Searing, tearing into his flesh when he was powerless to stop it.

The meeting of the Losers had officially begun, beginning in warmth and friendship. Moments bitter like herbs at Passover. Stanley Uris nowhere to be seen.

Beverly couldn’t shake that something was very, very wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](https://littlemumman.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> you can throw me prompts, if you want


End file.
